


Funeral Rites

by Glucose_Guardian



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anger Management, Blood and Gore, Deathclaw Companion, Fake Science, Fictional Religion & Theology, Forced Evolutionary Virus, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Muteness, Mystery, No Sole Survivor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revenge, Slow To Update, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glucose_Guardian/pseuds/Glucose_Guardian
Summary: "As Jal traversed the silent halls, she checked every passing room for survivors, hoping that even a single other soul survived. She would have even settled for Ms Jude, the loud and rude farmer who sent sneering looks her way and gossiped about her if she thought she was out of hearing range. Alas, it seemed that Vault 91, previously a den of social activity, became a soundless tomb devoid of life. She moved through the rooms like a ghost, a silent apparition. A spirit of one of the countless slain inhabitants unable to join the rest, chained to her place of slaughter. Her deathclaw companion hulking over the lost girl looked like a gentle reaper, patiently waiting for the spirit to realise she was already dead.""She had a two-step plan for the future. She may not have figured out how she would achieve them yet, but she could improvise with what lady misfortune brings her way.Track down who massacred Oasis. Gut them like a radroach."
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Funeral Rites

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first serious fanfiction I intend on actually updating; any criticisms, advice, suggestions etc. welcome in the comments!  
> I actually had 2 versions of this story's first chapter posted but deleted it because I wasn't happy with it. I'm posting this one as a new work with a clean slate, and I think it came out a lot better than the last two so I intend to continue it.  
> Also, I wouldn't read it if you're easily triggered by gore, but since you're looking up Fallout, you're probably safe. If you think I should change the rating or add any tags let me know.  
> Enjoy reading!
> 
> ="(ΦwΦ)""= ((( ͡° ʖ̯ ͡°))︻デ┳═ー  
> (Posted: 05/04/2020)

It was too quiet.

Judging by the position of the sun, it must have been around three in the afternoon by now, yet no sound came beyond the open town gates. No clanging of pots and pans readying dinner; no children being a nuisance as they meandered between buildings and people in a game of tag; no barking from the ownerless town ghoul-mutt as he begs for belly rubs. The only remaining source of sound was the banged-up record player sitting on the edge of Old Roscoe's chem stall. Gingersnap reared back, a low growl vibrating through Jal's bones as she clutched his reins tighter. She got off the deathclaw and led him through the gates, holding her hunting rifle at the ready. As they passed the guard towers at the entrance, the coppery scent of death met her senses in a flood of dread.

Laser burn marks littered the ground and the sides of wooden buildings, accompanied by ash and the stench of singed flesh. Corpses of once lively neighbours paved the path leading to the cliffside cave; the heavy steel vault doors within standing ajar. Usually, the door stayed wide open, as the doors were not designed for regular use; releasing the locks every time someone wanted to move between the vault levels and the surface would prove inefficient despite their sturdiness. The only time the Overseer would order it shut would be during unusually bad radstorms. The ones who escaped the initial attack must have tried to barricade themselves but failed to make it in time and allowed the intruders inside.

Rooted to her spot, Jal scanned the square with uncomprehending detachment, mouth slightly open as if to call out, but unable to do so. A gentle headbutt from Gingersnap urged her to keep moving through the carnage; a cheerful instrumental track backing her steps sounding out of place, as she passed collapsed market stalls and trampled vegetable patches. Stepping through the vault door, she saw Roscoe's body draped over the fried control panel of the door's locking mechanism. The scientist ghoul was Jal's only real conversation partner aside from her immediate family; he acted a lot like an older brother to her, and although his jokes tended to fly over her head, she enjoyed his company immensely. He helped her voice all the things she was unable to vocalise herself and was the only one who dared make fun of her without fear of blunt force trauma. And now... Now he was gone. She picked him up off the console and laid him out on the metal platform in a more comfortable position. She closed his eyes with a gentle touch and kept moving.

As Jal traversed the silent halls, she checked every passing room for survivors, hoping that even a single other soul survived. She would have even settled for Ms Jude, the loud and rude farmer who sent sneering looks her way and gossiped about her if she thought she was out of hearing range. Alas, it seemed that Vault 91, previously a den of social activity, became a soundless tomb devoid of life. She moved through the rooms like a ghost, a silent apparition. A spirit of one of the countless slain inhabitants unable to join the rest, chained to her place of slaughter. Her deathclaw companion hulking over the lost girl looked like a gentle reaper, patiently waiting for the spirit to realise she was already dead.

They descended the stairs. Gingersnap obediently hunched down to wait for her return in the eerie corridor as she stepped through the doorway.  
Her family's residence was located within the generator room; not exactly standard living quarters, but accomodating enough to create a homey atmosphere once you got used to the constant low hum. With the generator running hot more often than not, the access door was removed and replaced with a beaded curtain made with painted molerat teeth, allowing additional air circulation to prevent overheating. On the plus side, the room's occupants never needed to invest in thicker blankets, and one of the exposed inner parts made a nice grill provided one didn't accidentally brush up against it. With each member of the family having years of scavving experience and mild hoarding tendencies, a substantial accumulation of various trinkets littered the room. It was somewhat reminiscent of a dragon's nest, full of shimmering baubles and glistening jewellery catching the artificial light. Now, with drying blood staining polished metal and gemstones, slackjawed expressions upon her parents' limp corpses, the atmosphere was anything but homey.

Tucked away in a shadowy nook one had to crouch to reach, was a plastic crate filled to the brim with Grognak the Barbarian and various other comics. A flashlight stood upright next to the box, and a well-used pillow lay beside it. The concrete walls and metal pipes surrounding the reading corner were decorated with badly drawn doodles of Grognak and his friends, having fun battling baddies and dancing together, amongst them a drawing of Jal. Her muscular body barely fit into the cramped space, no longer the tiny child who picked out the hideaway so many years ago. She embraced herself with scabbed knees tucked underneath her chin, clenched her eyes shut and breathed in deeply. 

* * *

It took a whole week to take care of the scattered remains of her people. By the time she got around to cremating the last few, the bodies were bloated and foaming at the mouth, the stench of decomposition powerful to her sensitive nostrils. In the morning, she will gather the ash and bone shards and scatter them at the Descent, a point at the edge of the cliff face overlooking the topside part of town. It was designated as the chosen funeral spot with the first surface deaths of her vault ancestors; their physical forms freed from mortal shackles like their undying souls, setting them free on the irradiated wind. The priest in charge of the ceremony had some strong beliefs about ' _releasing energies_ ' and ' _warding against evil spirits_ ' with crystals, which the majority of early Oasis citizens did not share. Nevertheless, the ceremony caught on and became a tradition, the priest gaining a more substantial following, with a loose sort of religion forming around his philosophy. With the current priest, Mother Vilma, unable to take charge of the proceedings, Jal took it upon herself to send off the restless dead. Firstly, the priest would make a short speech summarizing the life of the mourned; unable to give form to her words without Roscoe's support, Jal would settle for a symbolic few minutes of intentional silence to pay her respects. The next step was to carve their name into the smooth surface of the weathered stone to keep their memory alive and to act as the town's memoir. The ritual was most often performed with the rising sun, a symbolic way to give the leaving spirits a bright and early start on their journey. After a stretch of grieving, the end of announced by the closest family members of the fallen, a small celebratory feast would be held in their honour as the community shared stories about their life.

The glow of dying embers flickered from within the smouldering incinerator before her. As the last of the light reflected in her unseeing eyes, her attention returned to the present time. During the cleanup process, Jal accumulated a vast amount of valuable items retrieved from her decomposing neighbours. Boxes of chems, ammo and holotapes stacked up high in the lab equipment closet, the most secure room place within the vault she could think of to hide the valuables she came across from other scavvers and raiders. It was on the near-abandoned third level, it's only occupants being Roscoe and the ghoul-dog who followed the scientist around, despite his claims that it did not belong to him. He called it Spook. The man utilised the heavily irradiated chambers for his chem production and other more secretive experiments, ones she did not fully comprehend aside from ' _testing radiation resistance_ ' and ' _mutations of the genetic makeup_ ', whatever that meant. He once mentioned something about a fever? Like her mother, she never once suffered from radiation sickness, so the main reason the vault-dwellers avoided the third level was irrelevant to her. The giant venomous spiders which made the lab their nest rarely gave her trouble, as they only became aggressive if threatened; they were more scared of her than she was of them.

The young woman filled her backpack's pockets with a portion of the caps she collected, hoping it would last for a lengthy amount of time. She wasn't used to handling money, being more practised in trading whatever she scavved and hunted. Her parents were paid in caps by the Overseer unlike her and were the ones who dealt with family budgeting and shopping. Jal was starting to realise that the subjects she was experienced in were very selective; knowing how to scare a deathclaw into submission or crushing a yao guai's skull between her thighs wouldn't be of much help in most social situations. If she was being honest, she wasn't at all prepared to face whatever awaited her in the wider wasteland. A week ago she would have had Roscoe and her parents to shield her from unwanted human interaction.

A week... _A week_ went by, and she didn't shed a single tear. She moved through the task of gathering the corpses, removing the belongings on their person and setting them into the incinerator. It didn't require much of her attention, so she let her thoughts wander away from the tragedy; she moved through the motions like a mindless drone, the continuous sound of static filling her brain. Now, she busied her restless hands with preparing her pack for the road. Her main rations consisted of radstag jerky and dried fruit, things she knew would stay edible for a long time. She didn't dare touch the stash of pre-war conserves kept in the diner's stockroom, not keen on tasting two-hundred-year-old Cram. She crammed several bottles of filtered water and a couple of strong spirits; a first-aid kit filled to the brim with emergency stimpacks, and a pick-and-mix of many different chems she knew were pretty valuable thanks to observing Roscoe during his day job as a seller. Figuring that she could acquire more if needed once she reaches whatever settlement she stumbles upon, she only grabbed a single change of clothes and a pocket sewing kit, not wanting to burden herself further.

With the zip of the last pocket, she was done. All her hunting gear and weapons were ready to be strapped back on Gingersnap's harness, along with a bedroll she occasionally used when venturing farther into the ruins. All in all, she felt as confident as she could in her preparedness. Pulling in her deathclaw's taloned arm over her shoulder in a soundless request for comfort, she curled inwards and attempted to close her eyes despite feeling wide awake. Tomorrow she planned to leave as soon as she was done with the funeral; she couldn't bear the oppressive silence.

She had a two-step plan for the future. She may not have figured out how she would achieve them yet, but she could improvise with what lady misfortune brings her way.

Track down who massacred Oasis. **Gut them like a radroach.**

Without her announcement, the mourning period would not end. Without avenging her family she didn't think she would be able to grieve. As her consciousness drifted uneasily towards slumber, her scaly companion brought the girl's form closer to his chest, vigilantly keeping watch during her vulnerable state.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have quite a few drawings of Jal on my Tumblr if you want to check them out:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/magdasartstuff
> 
> ="(ΦwΦ)""= ((( ͡° ʖ̯ ͡°))︻デ┳═ー


End file.
